


sometimes, it's the little things

by werealldreaming



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Slice of Life, kinda? this is just miles figuring stuff out post-canon tbh, mostly fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werealldreaming/pseuds/werealldreaming
Summary: It’s the little moments that make a lifetime. Or, three things that Miles feels in the months after defeating the Kingpin.
Relationships: Miles Morales & Everyone, or close enough anyway - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	sometimes, it's the little things

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all! first fic in this fandom, bear with me here
> 
> also shoutout to [Quillium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium) who did not exactly inspire this but also did in a way? made me want to try to write something like this. anyway check her out she's great

i. grief

He walks in on Gwen and May having a heart-to-heart, once, a few months after the collider debacle. He’s just finished an afternoon in Peter’s old hideout-slash-lab, trying work out some new designs for his webshooters, when he hears the voices.

It’s not hard to figure out that May’s chatting with Gwen. Peni had figured out how to make interdimensional communication devices, complete with text, phone, and hologram-video capabilities, and there’s a distinct humming that’s easily lost to white noise for those without enhanced senses, which Peni has yet to figure out how to stop. Miles is beginning to just accept it as a quirk of the technology.

“It’s just really weird,” Gwen is saying, and something in her voice makes Miles hesitate to poke his head in to say hi. “It’s like—my Peter loved that terrible Happy-Os cereal, and you guys don’t even _have_ that here, but you have the other thing that’s similar, and it just—I don’t know.”

“I understand,” May says, voice soft and gentle. “Losing someone…you get reminded of them in the strangest ways.”

“Yeah,” Gwen agrees. Then, angry: “I hate it. I’m always reminded of it at the worst times, over the dumbest things, and it’s so—” She stops. “I’m sorry. It’s been almost two years, for me, and it’s only been a few months since you lost—”

May hums an agreement. “That’s true. But I also lost my husband almost ten years ago, and my parents a while back. I’ve been around this block a few times, but it’s your first time. It’s okay to let yourself grieve, even years later.”

“Right. Yeah. Thank you, Aunt May.”

“Of course. Take your time, dear. Let yourself cry over cereal brands; it’s okay.”

Miles slips away before he can hear Gwen’s answer. It’s odd, to hear her so upset, not even able to finish her sentences properly. He’s so used to her being collected, calm. She’s much more private about her emotions than most others that Miles knows. Still, it makes sense that her Peter is what makes her break down.

The thing is, Miles didn’t know the original Peter Parker that well. He’d always admired him, certainly, as most citizens of New York had, but he didn’t know Peter as a _person_. He’d only had that single moment, feeling that moment of connection, and a broken promise to train Miles.

He wishes he’d met his universe’s Peter earlier, that he’d had a chance to truly know him. He sees May’s grief, and the usually-subtler ways Gwen reacts to reminders of her Peter, and he wishes he could say _I understand; I miss him, too_ , but he can’t, because it’s not true. The only thing he’s lost is an abstraction, the possibility of knowing Peter and Spider-Man. Not the real thing.

*

He hasn’t put up anything since his dad took him out to put up his tribute mural. Miles isn’t sure why, to be honest—he has ideas, or concepts at least, but he can’t even bring himself to sketch them out, never mind go out and use his paints. He hasn’t even been putting up stickers.

“You good?” Ganke asks him one evening. Miles’ face is pressed into his desk, sketchbook shoved away after another failed attempt to make something he doesn’t hate.

“Sure,” he tells him. “Everything’s great.”

“Uh-huh.” He hears rustling as Ganke gets out of bed and moves over to sit on the floor next to his chair. “Dude, I’ve been watching you get increasingly annoyed at whatever you’re doing for the past hour. And like, you don’t have to tell me, but either ask for help or take a break. I’m concerned for your blood pressure.”

“It’s stupid,” Miles mutters. He sits up, rubbing his face. “It’s like, my dad’s finally getting better about the street art stuff I want to do, he wants to help me research ways to keep it legal, but now I just. Don’t have inspiration.”

“That sucks, bro,” Ganke says. “But that’s okay, right? It’s not like your dad’s gonna just change his mind randomly.”

“Yeah.” It’s true, but somehow it’s not reassuring. “I don’t know. Everything I try to draw sucks, anyway.”

“Nope,” says Ganke, an automatic response. They both have that habit of calling out each other’s self-deprecation. “Try again.”

Miles groans. “It’s—I can’t make it look the way I want it to, and most of it feels wrong. Like I’m missing something important. I don’t know.”

_Missing something_ is the best way he’s figured out how to describe his dissatisfaction. It’s not like he’s never had art blocks before, but usually he’s able to either push through them, or figure out why he’s too drained to create. This is different, though, and Miles can’t even figure out how to explain it, nevermind fix it.

“It’s okay,” Ganke says. “I mean, I’m not an artist, but like. Sometimes you just get stuck, you know? Plus, if your dad is starting to take interest in more of it, maybe you feel like it has to be good enough for him?”

“I guess so. I mean, it’s not like my dad’s not supportive of me making art. I’ve shown him stuff before, I shouldn’t be worried about his judgement.” It is true that it’s strange having his dad be more invested in his art, though. It’s clear it’s been a while since he did this kind of stuff—he doesn’t know any of the newer designs and styles Miles was used to trying out with Uncle Aaron.

“Still, it’s a thing.” Ganke settles back to lie on floor, folding his hands across his chest. “I mean it, Miles, you can just take a break from it if you need to. You’ve got a lot to stress about already.”

Miles hums an agreement, then nudges Ganke with his foot. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.”

ii. love

Gwen calls him every Friday after school, at four o’clock in the afternoon. It’s a routine they defaulted into, after several weeks of trying to schedule calls and always having the same available times. Still, Miles almost finds it weird how consistent her calls are, always exactly on the hour, until she admits to him that she has an alarm reminding her to do it.

At first, before Ganke knows about his secret identity, he finds secluded corners and empty classrooms to chat with her, because hologram technology is, unfortunately, not yet commonplace in Miles’ universe. It’s a relief when he can just chat with Gwen in his room—he doesn’t have to keep an eye out for passing students and staff.

This Friday, it’s the day before spring break, and Miles first has to tell her that they’ll have to skip next week’s call, because he doesn’t want to explain to his parents about…everything.

“Don’t be stupid,” Gwen says, kicking at Miles’ shin. Her foot passes through it in a blur of static. “We can do audio-only.”

“Oh yeahhh,” Miles says. “I forgot about that.”

Gwen just laughs. “Of course you did. That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that phone calls are the most stressful way to communicate. There’s a reason we developed texting! You can actually think about what you’re going to say next.”

“But with calling you can hear people’s _tone_!”

“You can send tone with different texting styles!”

“That only works if everyone knows the same typing styles! I’m telling you, calls are superior to texting,” Gwen says, voice full of mock-outrage.

Miles raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. We’ll do an actual phone call next week.”

“Awesome,” Gwen says, then changes the subject. “Did I tell you about the guy in my bio class who keeps trying to become my friend by figuring out my favorite candy? He’s progressed onto gummy candies now.”

“Oh my god.”

“He’s never gonna guess.” She shifts so that she’s sitting cross-legged on her chair. “Nobody ever guesses Ce De Candies.”

“I don’t even know what those _are_ ,” Miles tells her, but he’s grinning.

*

His mom texts him a screenshot of an art supply website he likes. In the image is a set of markers he’s been wanting for a while now, a red _SALE_ banner tagged in the corner of image.

_!!!!_ , he sends, knowing his mom knows his texting style enough to know what that means.

_It’ll be here by the time you’re home for the weekend,_ she replies, and Miles sends her a string of smiley-faces and hearts. _Love you, baby._

_love you too,_ he sends back. _tell dad too._

*

When Miles first sees Noir’s apartment, he immediately decides he’s going to draw something for him to put up. The place makes him sad, with how little decoration it has. Even accounting for the fact that Noir’s universe is black-and-white, Miles doesn’t think he’s ever encountered a home as bleak as his. There’s not even clutter to add personality, besides the Rubik’s cube he’d taken from Miles’ universe.

It takes him a while to figure out what he wants to make. He considers making something black-and-white at first, so Noir can have it fit in with the rest of his universe. Miles needs practice using textures and lighting, anyway. But when he mentions this to Noir in passing, he shakes his head.

“I miss color,” he says. “I still do not understand. But it is beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Miles agrees.

“And you’ve shown me some of your art—you work better with bright colors, do you not?”

Miles blinks, then nods. He hadn’t expected Noir to pick up on that. It’s true, though—Miles likes the bright, intense colors of his spray paints, and the style comes through even when he’s using different mediums.

“So make something like that,” Noir tells him, and Miles nods.

He ends up drawing all six of them, swinging into the night sky together. The colors of their costumes are thrown into sharp relief against the darkness of the night and hints of the New York City skyline. It’s actually not quite like Miles’ usual work, color-wise, though their costumes are still far brighter than they are in real life.

Noir’s face lights up when he gives him the picture, carefully framed so that he can hang it up in his apartment. “Thank you,” he says, soft in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“Of course,” Miles says. “I loved making it.”

The next time he calls Noir, it’s hanging up in his bedroom, a bright splash of color against the black-and-white of the room.

iii. hope

He calls Peter B. one day and he doesn’t pick up.

Miles doesn’t actually think anything is wrong, when it happens. They’ve all missed calls before, caught up in something unexpectedly, so he figures Peter will get back to him soon. Peter actually going outside is a rare enough occurrence.

Peter doesn’t get back to him for almost a week.

“Sorry,” Peter finishes, after a stilted explanation of the ways his brain sometimes tears into him, makes him feel hopeless and worthless and bleak.

Miles frowns. “What for? It wasn’t your fault.” He doesn’t have a lot of experience with depression, especially not in the way Peter clearly does, but he’s learned a little bit about it from Ganke’s sister, who’s in the year above them and goes to a therapist every week.

“Yeah, but I still missed your call,” Peter says, as if this is very important.

“Dude, you just told me you couldn’t get out of bed. It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Right.” Peter sighs. “That’s the thing where I focus on the wrong thing because my brain thinks it’ll make me feel better. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Miles reminds him. Thinking again of Ganke’s sister, he asks, “Are you seeing a therapist? I’ve heard that’s helpful.”

“Not yet. I’m looking into it, though.” He frowns, face pensive, then adds: “MJ is helping me, actually.”

“Yeah?” Miles asks. “Are you two—”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “It’s—I think it’s going well. I don’t know.” He snorts. “I don’t know if I should be the judge of how it’s going, to be honest. It’s not like my brain would tell the truth.”

“Well, I believe in you,” Miles tells him, doing his best to convey his sincerity. “You’ll do great. Everything will be okay.”

“Thanks, Miles.”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he says.

“I know.”

*

“Hands up!” The voice comes from behind him, and Miles jerks and does so, sending the web he’d been about to use further into the alleyway. He’s in the middle of stopping an attempted mugging, which he’d passed as he finished up his patrol, and he’s not expecting company.

The man he’d been about to web to the wall swears, but before he can make a break for it, the police officer behind him snaps, “Not _you_ , Spider-Man.” His voice shifts slightly as he addresses the mugger. “Don’t move.”

The mugger scowls, muttering something under his breath, then very slowly raises his hands. Off to the side, close to where Miles’ stray web had landed, the man Miles had rescued is staring in shock. Miles hopes he’s okay; he hadn’t arrived in time to see what the mugger had done to him, nor has he had a chance to check on him.

Miles turns to the police officer, and is startled to see that it’s his dad, in uniform. His dad doesn’t usually work night shifts anymore. He carefully deepens his voice, then asks, “Do you want me to web him up? Sir.”

His dad’s face makes a series of expressions that he doesn’t quite recognize, and Miles grimaces internally. He knows that his fake voice sounds awful, has been told by every single one of the other Spider-People, but he’s also not willing to risk accidentally revealing his identity to his dad. There’s no way that can end well.

“That’s not necessary,” his dad says. He moves in and handcuffs the mugger quickly, then turns to Miles again. “Thank you for arriving in time to stop him,” he says. “You did good work.”

Miles blinks. He’d never expected his dad to say something like that to Spider-Man, original or not. His dad’s issues with Spider-Man have always been more about his philosophy than his personality. Miles is operating much like Peter had, so he’s not sure for the reason behind his change of heart.

Still, it is nice to hear that his dad is changing his mind, or at least more sympathetic than he used to be. Miles knows that not everyone likes Spider-Man, and he’s not even planning on telling his dad about his identity, but…it’s nice, to know his dad has his back. Even if he doesn’t know it.

“Just doing my job, sir,” he says.

And it’s the truth. He is the new Spider-Man, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> gwen references happy-os, which are meant to be cheerios, and ce de candies, which are the old name for smarties (the us kind, not the uk kind--gwen has terrible taste in candy)
> 
> i don't really know if this comes across quite the way i was aiming for but i had fun writing it anyway! please leave a comment if you're so inclined! i love hearing from people :D
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://ternaryflower53.tumblr.com)


End file.
